Night Terrors
by Apple Senorita
Summary: Sometimes, Dean struggles at getting a peaceful night's sleep. When Sam finds out, he is determined to find out why. Set around ELAC I should think. Review!


"Sam!"

Dean sat up with his yell. He froze against the dark, panting heavily. Carefully, he rubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes and brow. Sam shuffled in his sleep in the bed next to Dean's, probably as a small response to his name being shouted by his brother, but otherwise oblivious to the outside world. Dean groaned and let himself flop back down onto his bed. His t-shirt clung to him after a night of tossing and turning, and he pendant on his necklace was cast off to one side due to the movement. Dean touched it in an absent-minded fashion and let out a long, agitated breath. A nightmare. He'd actually had a nightmare. And one of _those_ nightmares. The last he'd had a nightmare like this was the night Sam had disappeared off to college. Since then? Dean had always worked himself hard int eh day to guarantee log-like sleep during the night. He knew nightmares were common, even amongst those not hunting evil, and Dean had had small nightmares during his life like everyone else. But some nights, like tonight and the night Sam had left…he'd had nightmares that made his heart shudder, his eyes flicker and roll in his head and his fingers and toes curl. Complete terror fits coinciding with a lot of images that made Dean's stomach tense. Dean got up and felt his way into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him before switching on the light so as not to wake Sam. He spun the tap in the sink, running the water into his cupped hands, and then splashed it over his face. He ran his hands through his air and blinked quickly at his sopping reflection. His eyes were hard and deep as usual, but there was an added greyness around them that told exhaustion and fatigue. He scrubbed at them almost angrily, then took another look. Now they just looked red, like he'd been crying.

FLASHBACK

Dean smashed his way into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him so hard the doorframe gave a terrified shudder. He stood just inside the doorway, panting heavily, chest heaving with every breath. After a moment or two, the anger subsided and his face softened to a disbelieving resign. Sam was gone. He scuffed his feet as he made his way over to the sink. Sam's toothbrush was gone. Dean clenched his teeth and gave himself a steely glare in the mirror, "Well done," he snapped at his own reflection. The young man stared back at himself.

When he eventually left the cool embrace of the bathroom a call came up the stairs, "Dean?"  
"I'm going to bed," Dean shouted down quickly, in one heavy tone.

DREAM

It was a heavy, hot highway. Dean frowned down at himself stood on the tarmac. What was he doing? He turned to look over his shoulder. Nothing. Just the road and the desert. He turned back around to ascertain what else could possibly he here and found himself nose-to-nose with Sam.

"Jesus! Sammy…" Dean shook his head, taking a step back, "What are you doing?"

Sam opened his mouth. He spoke, but no words came out. Sam was shouting now, Dean could tell. He was making gestures with his arms, his expression was furious, he was getting closer and closer to Dean but Dean couldn't hear the words.  
"Sam, Sam, I can't hear you, what-?"  
Dean was cut off by Sam's mute yelling. Dean tried to back up but every time he tried he felt like he was going to fall off something. Every tiny step backward his body jumped as if he had just saved himself from falling. Sam lunged out his hands, pushing Dean backwards. This time he fell. He fell into orange, screaming lights until he hit the ground. Dark, dirty cobbles. Dean threw himself up, staggering backwards. There was that smell. Burning. As if he knew this place well he ran along the neighbour road he had found himself on. He rounded the corner with pants tugging at his lungs.

"Sammy!" he found himself calling out. The scene in front of him was carnage. Belching smoke, ashes raining, a non-descript red-brick, school-looking building licked with fire. And for some reason, Dean knew Sam was inside.

"Sam!"

He couldn't move. His desperate shouts did nothing. His panicked calls for help from people passing by, seemingly oblivious to the burning building, did nothing. And soon he found himself choking on his own pleas.

Dean scrabbled at his throat but nothing. He couldn't breathe. His vision flickered for a momentary second the building was gone, replaced by something else. His Dad still on the ground, eyes open. Everything flickered again for a heartbeat and there was Sam, on his knees, hands curled in his hair and head lowered, screaming.

"Sam! Dad!"

END DREAM

Dean yelped as he tore out of sleep, flinging himself upwards on his bed and grabbing at the sheets for support.

"Dad…Sam…" he panted, still gripped in the last strands of his nightmare. It took a moment or two for him to calm down a little more. The room was smudged with early morning light. The bed next to his was empty, unmade. Carefully, he moved to it, and sat down heavily on the rumpled sheets. He lay down and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. In, and out. In, and out. He told himself just to breathe and go back to sleep. He told himself it didn't matter he'd stupidly got into Sam's bed as if the sheets and pillows that smelt like Sam were some kind of security blanket. He pushed that away and told himself he was just finding cool sheets – he'd heard somewhere it helped get you to sleep. Dean told himself everything was just fine, the nightmare was gone, and all he had to do was stop his eyes burning and his throat closing up, and the day would come just like any other.

END FLASHBACK

Dean grumbled under his breath and dried his face off with a towel. That nightmare had been…scary. He'd spent days feeling his mind and body reverberate from it, although until now had omitted the memories of him wrapping himself up in Sam's bed. This nightmare had been different this time, but his head pounded in the same way. Carefully he tried to pick out the images that had played in his head. Blood.

Sam.

Something smashing.

Sam hitting the ground.

Something moving in the dark – slits for features, bright blonde hair.

A smell of blood and dark and smoke.

A bang like a gunshot.

Dean jerked his head upwards, opening his eyes wide to force the images away. After a moment's pause, he finished drying his face and headed back into the bedroom.

"Dean,"  
"Wa-ah!" Dean yelled, as the light switched on and Sam was illuminated in the dark.

"What was that?" Sam demanded, his face tight with concern. The bruise over his right eye from the crash had yet to fade. The small nicks of scars slowly healing stood out against his skin underneath his sleep-mussed hair.

"Someone who didn't expect you to come popping out of the dark like that. Can't you wear a fluorescent jacket when you're in the dark or something?"  
"You know what I mean,"

Dean froze, caught in an awkward moment of not knowing what to do.

"Uh…"  
"You said that _I _had bad nightmares, Dean. But that was…when were you going to mention these to me?"  
"What makes you think I've had them before?"  
Sam cocked an eyebrow, which said volumes. Dean groaned, rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Sammy, look, I appreciate the concern and everything, but I'm fine. Alright?"  
But Sam had that fixed look on his face that he got when he 1) didn't believe something that was being said to him and 2) was planning to be as stubborn and pointed about it as possible. Considering he was a Winchester, Dean knew that it was going to be a _long_ time before Sam let this go.

"I just had a nightmare," he said, with a shrug. He threw himself back onto the bed to see if that would stop Sam. Not a chance.

"About what?"  
"The Boogie man,"

Sam watched Dean settle back down amongst the duvet and pillow, face smothered so he wouldn't be bothered by the light Sam had switched on. Unfortunately though, he couldn't spy Sam easing himself over to Dean's bed in time to do anything about it. Sam grabbed the edge of Dean's duvet in a vice grip and whipped it from the bed. Dean jumped centimetres in the air and launched for it.

"Sam, give me it back!"

What ensued was a messy, scrambling fight between the two beds; it was half a fight with each other and half a fight with the duvet. They bumped their heads on the sideboards, caught their ankle bones on the bed legs, bruised their shins against the bedside table and pulled each other's clothing into funny angles as they scrabbled and fought.

"Real mature Sammy," Dean grumbled, when the two of them had reached a checkmate. Sam had been forced backwards against his bed, and he couldn't get underneath it being on his side due to his shoulders. He squirmed, but ended up stubbing his toe on the leg of his bed and butting his head against the table.

"I thought it might get you to listen," Sam bit back. Dean had managed to get one shoulder under the bed and was half caught underneath it. One leg was wrapped firmly around the bottom half of the duvet, and one arm was holding onto the corner of the bedside table to prevent himself cracking his head against the corner. The other was lost in the folds of the duvet, gripping for all it was worth. They lay in their respective positions and panted heavily, a staring competition now their only means of winning over the other.

"You _always_ told me to tell you what my nightmares were about," Sam said forcibly, "Are you exempt from that about something? Why can't you tell me about yours?"

"Sam you know I avoid sharing and caring like the plague, alright, so just back off,"

Sam growled through clenched teeth, then went very silent. Dean frowned. He pulled a little on the duvet and found Sam had lost most of his grip.

"Sam?"  
"Uh…" Sam had gone very pale, even under the scars and bruising.

"Sam what is it?"

Sam's hand found its way out of the duvet and touched his head. It came away with blood on his fingers. He looked up at Dean with a lost bemusement in his eye, "I think I hit my head on the corner,"

Dean's wide eyes rolled and he forced himself out from under the bed.

"You're still not getting away with this," Sam mumbled as Dean crouched down next to him.

"Stubborn as always Sammy,"  
"It's Sam," Sam muttered, before looking back down at the blood on his fingers and going very quiet.

AS: Like? Next chapter: will the setback actually help Sam open up Dean?


End file.
